


Daggers and Roses

by Redorangeyellowflickerbeat



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/F, Multi, Polyamory, it's a polycule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redorangeyellowflickerbeat/pseuds/Redorangeyellowflickerbeat
Summary: Rovele had spent many years on the path. But after meeting a runaway princess with a well-deserved vendetta against a mage, she found her life changing quite swiftly.Aka - Rovele (My Viper OC) is gay for Renfri, Triss, and Yennefer and gets caught up in everything that happens in the Witcher Netflix series.
Relationships: Renfri | Shrike (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Renfri | Shrike/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Original Female Character(s), Triss Merigold/Renfri | Shrike, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Daggers and Roses

A few weeks ago, there had been sixteen of them crowded into the small room, barely managing to squeeze into the beds that were long past too small for them. Now only five remained, the Trials had culled their numbers even more than training had. Those that remained were stronger now than ever before, however, and now stood shoulder to shoulder as they awaited the summons for initiation in the courtyard. A sharp whistle signaled their exit, and they soon were standing in a row in the courtyard, heads held high as the instructors prepared to give them their gear.

Rovele stood on the far end of the line, shoulders squared in an effort to seem as tall as possible with the behemoth of a man known as Ancar beside her. She realized at the last moment that there was one set of gear missing. And as each instructor was going down the line… She realized that she was the one who would not be going through initiation.

Finally, the nervous silence was broken. “Rovele,” her fencing instructor, Folgred, spoke, “follow me.” With a hidden gulp, she obeyed, glancing back for only a moment to see Ancar’s worry shining in his eyes as the doors to the keep were once more closed behind her.

* * *

Many years later, Rovele found herself walking into a small, run-down tavern. Her hood was drawn up over her head, obscuring her face to prying eyes as she made her way through the meager crowd. She made her way to the bar, placing a few orens on the table pointedly.

Mere moments later, she had found a place in a corner table, sitting with her back to the wall, feet propped up on the table as she took deep pulls from the pint of ale she held wrapped in her leather-gloved fingers. The taste of it burned down her throat, it wasn’t exactly the finest brew she’d ever had, but it did the job. Silver eyes swept the room, catching the eyes of more than a few over-curious patrons, and she resisted the urge to chuckle when they all quickly cowered from her gaze.

She knew the rumors spoken about Witchers like herself. That she and her kind were emotionless freaks of nature that were barely a step above the monsters that they killed. But as long as there were monsters to kill and coin to be made, she didn’t much care what they thought.

She looked up from her drink when she heard the sound of hesitant footfalls approaching. It was a young man, thin but not gaunt, looking like he had spent his life in a field. “I’ve got a job for you, Witcher,” he said, fidgeting with the collar of his jacket as his eyes flicked from her weapons to her medallion, “if you’re interested, that is.”

She raised an eyebrow and turned more fully toward him, gesturing for him to continue, which he did with no further prodding. “My family, we own livestock. And--well--we, uh, usually we would handle--”

With a deep sigh, Rovele raised a hand to stop him from rambling on. “Boy, I don’t care about the reasons why you’re hiring. Get on with it.”

His cheeks flushed a rather impressive shade of pink, and bobbed his head in a nod while rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. Of course. As I was sayin’, somethin’ has been eatin’ our livestock. We used to lose a sheep here and there, that’s the nature of things, but this is different, ma’am. Just last night, three of our pigs were slaughtered, right before market! Whatever it was, it left the carcasses a bloody mess. Guts… everywhere. We can’t keep having our livelihood butchered like this, ya understand?”

Rovele considered the information for a moment, before making a decision. “What will you pay me?”

“Two hundred orens, ma’am, upfront. And another two hundred when the job is done.” When Rovele nodded to accept the terms, he fumbled for a pouch, handing it to her as he babbled out thanks, which she waved off. She picked up her gear, and gestured for him to lead her to his family’s farm, which he did in a hurry.

As promised, the pig’s sty was in disarray. The gate had been ripped from its hinges and mangled. Rovele stepped over the mangled fence to inspect the bodies within. Three large pigs, all with their stomachs ripped open to reveal the entrails. With a sigh, she slid off one of her gloves and shoved her hand in the cavity, digging about within. Ignoring the sounds of retching behind her, she removed her hand once she found what she was looking for- or specifically what wasn’t there to find.

“How often would you say these attacks occur?” Rovele turned her head back to the young man, who began stammering further before admitting that it was about monthly. She nodded, expecting that answer. “Can I speak with your family?” the full moon was still on the horizon, and with night growing close she needed to confirm her suspicions swiftly. She gestured for the young man to lead on to the house, following behind as she loosened one of her silver knives.

As they approached the small cottage, she knew her suspicions were correct. The strong stench of at least a trio of werewolves filled her senses, and she briefly was grateful that her traveling companion had been late to their rendezvous. “Go back into town. I’ll return once I have finished up here,” she spoke to the man, who quickly ran off, eager to be away from her.

With him gone, she pulled out a bottle, the potion within an inky black, as she pulled out the cork. She downed it in a single gulp, and took a breath as she felt it take effect, magic coursing through her veins and strengthening her senses as it went. Once she was sure it had fully taken effect, she pulled her sword, before kicking the door open. Silver met four sets of angry golden eyes, and she internally sighed. The largest of the four werewolves leapt at her, and she ducked in a hurry, turning her blade up to hopefully catch the beast’s skin when it went above her. Judging by the howl that split the air and the spray of blood, she’d been successful. It wasn’t dead, though, and now they were even angrier. Another roll to dodge yet another lunge put her right in the path of one of the other werewolves, trying to land on her with enough force to crush her ribcage. With a desperate hand, she threw up _Aard_ just in time to keep the beast from landing full-force on her chest, but that didn’t stop it from dragging its back feet’s claws across her stomach before she could push it off and drive a silver dagger into its skull. One down, three more. She got up, slowly. Luckily, she didn’t have as much trouble dispatching the rest of the werewolves once they got sloppy in their desperation.

She gathered her weapons once more before leaving the carnage behind, knowing she didn’t have long before someone would come along and see what happened.

Of course, someone did before she could get to the tavern and explain. When did things not go wrong? Her armor was basically the only thing keeping her innards from spilling out, she finally began to notice as the potion effects began to dull, but it didn’t stop the men and women of the town from ganging up on her as she grew close to the tavern, covered in blood from both her own veins and the slain beasts. “They were beasts, they eventually would have slaughtered you.” She spoke, as calmly as she could when they approached, some of them with weapons in hand.

“They were our friends!”

“You have no proof that they were monsters!”

“They were human!”

“Murderer!” One man shouted, stirring the already angry crowd into a shouting frenzy. One man bent to grab stones and hurled one at Rovele. More townspeople followed his example soon after, hurling stones and insults in equal measure, soon moving to statements she was unfortunately used to hearing.

“Mutant freak!”

“Abomination!”

Rovele barely felt the stone that split her cheek, but she felt the warmth of the blood that began to spill. She glared at them all with slitted silver eyes and turned away to head back into the woods that surrounded the town. It was the way of a Witcher, she supposed, not for the first time, to be scorned by the people she had been trained to protect.

Once she got out of their sight, away from the danger of their ire, she began reaching with slowly numbing fingers to her armor, peeling the leather away from blood-soaked skin. A hiss slipped between clenched teeth as she had to pull the leather from where it had stuck to the wound. It was a nasty-looking wound, but not fatal. At least, not to a Witcher. Fumbling for her pack, she drew out a needle and some thread and got to work stitching up the gash the claws had left behind. The needle slipped from her bloody fingers a few times, and she nearly tore them when trying to tie off the end, but she managed to finish it off.

“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” An amused, and very familiar, voice filled Rovele’s ears as its owner had easily snuck into the Viper’s personal space.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way and you know it, my Shrike.”


End file.
